When a Duchess Says I Do - Grace Burrowes Page 0,81
from her and used it in long, soothing strokes. “We will consider your situation at greater length in the morning. Their Graces are due for a visit any day, and Quinn is adept at survival under difficult circumstances. He has resources I lack, and he will put them at our disposal if I ask him to.”
“He’s that loyal?”
“He is, and Jane’s loyalty approaches the ferocity of a blood oath. May I have a lock of your hair?”
He asked, even about such a small gesture. “Of course.”
A soft snick followed, then Duncan was braiding Matilda’s hair. Where had he learned that skill? “What was your dream, Duncan? When you put that sad business in York behind you, what did you aspire to?”
“I aspired to be a schoolteacher. To guide the minds of the yeomen’s and tradesmen’s children. The wealthy have their universities, their public schools, and tutors. I sought to contribute where learning was a more precious commodity.”
A worthy, honorable dream. “You took on Lord Stephen’s education, and then you were saddled with Brightwell.”
“One of Jane’s more inspired notions.” He brushed Matilda’s braid aside and kissed her nape. “Her best, as it turns out. Shall we to bed?”
Matilda bundled against him, grateful beyond words for his steadfast calm. “I’m frightened, Duncan. I was afraid before, afraid to die on the end of the rope, disgraced and condemned. Now I am afraid for you too. You really should have that dream.”
His arms came around her, secure and sheltering. “Most challenges benefit from measured consideration, and virtually every problem can wait until morning. Brightwell is of no interest to anybody, a neglected estate in the hands of a duke’s obscure relation. You are safe here with me.”
Six of the most precious words in the language, though the sentiment is entirely reciprocated ranked even above them. Matilda kissed him for that gift, kissed him for all of his many gifts, laid at her feet for no reason she could fathom.
“Take me to bed, Duncan.”
He obliged with lovemaking, when Matilda would have gloried in a mindless tumble that drove her worries aside for a few minutes and yielded a dreamless sleep. Duncan instead began with slow caresses, a tactile exploration of Matilda’s curves and hollows, her responses and sighs.
His kisses were tender, then plundering, then consuming as he backed her toward the bed and followed her down to the quilts.
“I want—” She yanked on his trousers.
He braced himself on one arm without breaking the kiss and kicked free of his clothing.
“Your chemise,” he muttered, skimming his mouth down to where her neck and shoulder joined.
Tossing aside her last garment took Matilda about three seconds, then she and Duncan were naked and panting. He settled over her and she twined her arms and legs around him.
“I want forever with you,” she said. “I want chess matches and travelogues and—” Children. God willing.
He kissed her before she could admit to that folly. “We’ll visit Prague on our honeymoon. In spring.”
“Please, yes.”
He began the joining with maddening self-restraint. Matilda marshalled the tattered remnants of her patience and set about to outlast him. He was relentless and determined. She was more determined still.
They played to another draw, both of them ceding the game at the same moment amid a conflagration of pleasure that stole every thought and worry from Matilda’s grasp.
“I’m done for,” she whispered, fingers trailing through Duncan’s hair. “Ruined for all time.”
He kissed her nose and levered up enough so that cool air eddied between them. “Ruin was never this satisfying before.”
Nothing in Matilda’s experience had been as satisfying as making love with Duncan. The gratification went beyond mere sensation to an intimacy of the heart and mind she’d never shared with another.
I cannot leave him. The thought coalesced as Duncan padded behind the privacy screen, his naked flanks gilded by firelight. I cannot abandon a man who has made my problems his own and promised me Prague in springtime. This was not a decision so much as an acceptance of the inevitable. Matilda’s path and his were one, no matter where that path took them. He was her home and her heart, and she, his.
He returned to the bed, a flannel in his hand. “For my lady.”
While Matilda tended to herself, Duncan banked the fire. He was comfortable in his own skin, a surprise given his reserved nature, and Matilda loved looking at him.
“How can you be dignified even when you have no clothes on?”
He set the poker on the hearth stand and pushed the screen